


Where We Begin

by ladyjax



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Female Character of Color, Gen, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 21:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyjax/pseuds/ladyjax
Summary: An interlude: Shuri and Bucky at two beginnings and going forward.





	Where We Begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [innie_darling (innie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/gifts).



> Written for innie for Not Prime Time 2018. Post-CW and Post-BP A little more Shuri-centric than I expected but something I may explore again.

Shuri was deep in the gust of one of her more problematic designs when her kimoyo bead signaled an incoming communication. She tapped it impatiently, sending whomever was calling the equivalent of “Call me later, please.”

She hunkered down on her stool, sweeping an impatient hand through the holographic schematic, turning it so she could zero in on the small, red blinking light in the midst of the intricate circuit lattice before her. 

The kimoyo signaled again, accompanied by her brother’s ID. Shuri closed her eyes and made a small request to Bast for patience before tapping the bead. “Yes, brother.” She winced slightly at her own impatient tone as T’Challa’s simulacrum materialized. Fortunately, T’Challa was familiar with her varied moods when she was working.

“I would not have disturbed you if I didn’t have need, sister,” T’Challa said. “But I need you at the palace as soon as possible.”  
Shuri bit back her frustration and smiled tightly. “Of course, I’ll be there shortly.” 

The simulacrum inclined its head regally. To the untrained eye, one would think that T’Challa wore the mantle of leadership like a well-tailored suit. Shuri, along with those in their closest circle, knew that much weighed on his mind, least of which being his upcoming investiture. She herself didn’t have that much to do beyond enduring fittings for her ceremonial garb; a complete waste of time in Shuri’s opinion. But tradition was tradition and she might tease T’Challa, even be a little terse with him at times; in the end, she would back him as best she knew how.

Arriving at the palace in good time, she made her way to her brother’s office. “What was so important that I had to come all the way back here.” Shuri’s voice drifted off as attention of three men was suddenly centered on her.

“I am going to kill him,” she muttered under her breath before plastering a smile on her face. “You have guests.”

T’Challa’s lips twitched but he held his demeanor. “Shuri, I would like you to meet Captain Steven Rogers and Staff Sergeant Samuel Wilson.”

Shuri was well aware of who was standing before her. Both men had broken with their fellows for reasons still unknown to most people.

“Gentlemen,” T’Challa continued, sweeping his hand towards her. “My sister, Princess Shuri, head of the Wakandan Design Group.” His gaze turned back to both men. “It is to her that I will entrust the care of your friend.”

“He’s not exactly my friend,” Wilson groused. “More like a very annoying acquaintance.”

“Sam,” Rogers said quelling, sparing a quick look over his shoulder. Shuri held her silence, fascinated by the interchange and met his blue-eyed gaze steadily once he turned his attention to her. The slightest of smiles tugged at the corners of Rogers’ mouth before he inclined his head respectfully.  
“Your majesty.”

Shuri’s brows shot upward and she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, T’Challa knows I have no time for that.” Walking forward, she held out her hand which Rogers took. “Yes, I am a princess. I am also smarted than him.”

“Ah, Shuri,” T’Challa’s tone betrayed his disapproval at her irreverence. Served him right, she thought. 

“What do you need?”  
**  
“You’ve got that look on your face again, Princess.”

Shuri sat up straighter in the shallow canoe that Bucky was slowly poling down the river. She shaded her eyes against the sun with one hand and looked at her companion. The scarf covering his left side a deep green worn atop a belted blue plaid blanket served to shield his skin, while a slathering of Shuri’s best sunscreen protected the exposed arm. 

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” she asked waspishly. “And what look are you talking about?”

The shade of a broad brimmed hat shadowed the top part of Bucky’s face but not the smirk. “I know, but it’s about the only thing that’ll break through when you start brooding about something.” 

Pale feet braced against the bottom of the canoe, he pulled the pole up and pushed it down and back, propelling their craft forward. “Just looked like you had something on your mind. You get this little furrow in your brow when you’re doing a hard think.”

“Perhaps.” She brought up his vitals on her kimoyo and compared them to the last set she’d recorded the week before. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good,” he said. “Glad to get out of the village. I almost forgot what it was like to talk to another adult.” 

They’d had a brief fight about this little excursion. Brief in that Bucky looked at her and said, “Get in the boat or I’m leaving you,” while Shuri shot back with, “This was my idea, colonizer,” and got in while giving him the finger. Hence her taking notes and he easing them along the placid river. 

Shuri’s work with the design group was informed and guided by the rigorous standards set in place by those who preceded her. Even as she designed weapons with great destructive power, they were never meant to leave Wakanda’s borders, though the Usurper (she refused to use his name though T’Challa might disapprove) nearly got away with spreading them worldwide in his mad rush for revenge.

Her work with one James Buchanan Barnes exposed her to a different reality. The brutally efficient mechanical arm both fascinated and repulsed Shuri; the remnants were in her lab, something for her to pore over as she considered her own plans for a replacement.

It was what was done to his mind and memory that shook her to the core. Captain Rogers’ words still came back to her at times:  
 _“They took him and twisted him like a rag until he didn’t know himself and when he was trying to heal, someone else came along and fucked him up worse.”_

She’d read the files, stomach churning at times as she read the dispassionate accounts of Bucky’s former handlers. Body and mind. Both needed to be healed.  
It had been slow going, teasing out each pathway into his brain that transmitted the triggers in his memory. Most of the work was done while Bucky was in stasis. Shuri added suggestions from some of their more traditional healers to her work, not trusting science to solve all that was wrong. They’d wake him up periodically, then send him back under until he spent more time awake than asleep.

When they finally moved him out of the lab and into the tiny riverside village, Bucky had looked around and said, “Kids and goats. I think I can handle that.”

“I know you are probably tired of me asking,” Shuri began. “My work…most of the time I work with machines. Organic components, vibranium. I know this, I grew up on it.” She leaned back, letting the sun warm her. “You were entrusted to me and I want to make sure that I get this right.”

“That’s fair,” Bucky replied. “When I was the Soldier, there’d be times I’d remember things about the past, about Stevie. My best friend and they took that from me or thought they did.”

“And punished you for every memory,” Shuri finished.

“Yeah, they did.”

Bucky poled them towards the shore and both hopped out, with Shuri lending a hand to pull it aground. She grabbed the bag of food she’d stowed and they found a place to sit.

“My past,” Bucky began after they’d taken a few minutes to eat. “You can’t do a damn thing about that. ‘Scuse my language, but that’s the truth. Figure I have a lot to make up for.” 

“I can help you with this, though.” Shuri replied. She smiled softly. “My brother wishes for me to teach children in America. At least, develop the curriculum for the learning center we’re starting. You’re my first student.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

That sat in silence for a while, letting all of Wakanda seep into their bones. Bucky had put aside his hat and Shuri chanced a look at him. Old eyes in a young man’s face. Then, on impulse, she poked him.

“Ow!”

“Now you’re brooding,” she said with a laugh. “Let’s make a pact. We move forward from here. I stop worrying about making you wore. You about everything else. Deal?”

Bucky nodded and smiled. “Deal.” They shook on it, Shuri holding on to Bucky’s hand, turning his arm this way and that.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replied, her mind already considering the possibilities of what she could give him aside from a sound mind. “I’ll let you know when I have an idea.”


End file.
